


The Dishwasher Incident

by Narusteph



Category: RPF - Fandom
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fights, Loading the dishwasher, Smut, Stupid Arguments, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-07
Updated: 2018-03-07
Packaged: 2019-03-28 01:50:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13893684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Narusteph/pseuds/Narusteph
Summary: You and Chris have a stupid argument about the dishwasher and it escalates. Sexily.*Inspired by a Bernie Mac stand-up!*





	The Dishwasher Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> Been a long time!
> 
> I have a fic for you guys that I wrote in one sitting! It was wild! I've never had that happen before where I just write until I'm done! Even the smut scene (which I've never written before) just flowed out. But I do feel that it's really not that good, so if you have any decent (respectful) feedback on that scene then please let me know!
> 
> Enjoy!

Dinner that night was a quiet affair. Chris had gotten back from wrapping up a film about three weeks ago. The first week he was back the two of you rarely left the bedroom, except to go to the front door to get the food you’d ordered. Over the next two weeks you slowly got back into a more regular routine. You went to work, ran errands, tried to find time to hang out with your friends; Chris had said he was going to take some time off to relax but ended up going to a meeting with his agent and came back with a few scripts to read. In the evenings, you binge-watched shows, walked Dodger and made dinner together. 

Tonight was a similarly pleasant evening. You left work a bit later than usual that day, so Chris had made dinner. As was your custom, it was your role to clean up. Picking up the plates from the table, you headed towards the kitchen. As you walked past him, Chris pinched your ass and you let out a little yelp. You didn’t have to look back to know he was smirking. You bit your lip to fight off a smile of your own. Tonight was going to be fun...

As you rinsed the plates before putting them in the dishwasher, you thought about how blissful your life was at the moment. Sure, it was tough when Chris was away working, but when you were together it was heaven. Humming to yourself, you began to put the dishes away in the dishwasher.

Chris came in a few seconds later, going to the fridge for a drink. As he turned and closed the fridge door he saw you bent over, focused on tidying up. His blue eyes twinkled mischievously as he approached you, unsure of what exactly he would do when he got to you but sure that it would lead to something saucy.

When he was just a couple of feet away, he froze. His drink was stuck halfway to his mouth and he narrowed his eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

You looked up, not having noticed him until now. Taking in his confused expression, you returned one of your own before replying. “Loading the dishwasher...?”

“Like that?” he said skeptically.

“What do you mean?”

“That’s not how you load a dishwasher.”

“What? Says who?” You challenged and stood to your full height.

“Says everyone. Why would you put the forks on the top rack?”  
“Why wouldn’t I?”

“Because they’d fall all over the place when the dishwasher is running!”

“They do not,” you said firmly, and continued to place the last dirty fork on the top rack with the others.

“Are you serious?” he asks, putting his drink down on the counter and coming closer. “And why’d you put that plate there. You can’t just put them anywhere; you have to put them next to each other.”

You looked down at the bottom rack where you’d placed the few dishes you had both used to eat dinner. “What does it matter? There’s only like 3 plates.”

“’Cause when the forks from the top rack come fucking tumbling down, they’ll do more damage than if the plates were loaded properly!” He asserts, gesturing wildly towards the open dishwasher.

“That doesn’t happen!” you repeated, crossing your arms over your chest.

Chris continues, undeterred by your statement. “And that wouldn’t happen at all if you didn’t put the forks on the top rack in the first place.”

“Chris, they’re fucking forks,” you said, pointing to the offending cutlery. “And these are just fucking plates, not egg shells,” you pointed lower to the plates. “I know how to wash dishes.”

“Maybe you do. But you obviously don’t know how to load a dishwasher,” he said scathingly.

You raised your eyebrows in surprise and irritation. “Okay, Mr. Clean. Why don’t you make me a fucking blueprint next time?” you scoffed.

He rolled his eyes and reached down to the dishwasher. “I’ll just show you how to do it right.”

“I was doing it right!” you exclaimed as he pulled a dish out and put it back on rack next to the others. This simple act enrages you.

He moves his hand to the top rack and you say with venom lacing your voice, “You touch those fucking forks and I’ll kill you.”

He lets out a groan and looks up at you, “Y/N, that’s not where the forks go.”

“Who the fuck said that! I’ve been putting forks on the top rack for years and it didn’t kill anyone,” you argue.

“They just don’t go there! They obviously go on the bottom rack, Y/N!”

“Fuck you, Chris! Don’t tell me where to put my forks.” Your hand goes to the top rack to push it in, preventing him from messing up your dishes any more.

He stops you by holding the rack firmly and says in a serious tone, “Wait. I’m fixing the forks.”

“The forks are fine!” You are just about done with this shit.

“Fucking -! They are not! Forks go on the bottom rack! That’s final!” he said. You are both breathing heavily now, chests heaving and the air audibly leaving your nostrils.

“Leave. My. Fucking. Forks. Alone.”

Chris takes the few forks in one hand. “MY fucking forks go on the bottom rack.” With one swift move, he places them on the bottom rack instead. He looks you in the eye with indignation and you glare at him.

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck you right back.”

You turn around and leave, heading to the bedroom and shutting the door with a final slam.

 

In retrospect, it was definitely one of the stupidest fights you two have ever had in your relationship. And under ordinary circumstances, you would have gotten over it with a few simple words of apology, a stupid joke, and lots of kisses. 

You had gone to bed that night immediately after the fight, exhausted from the long day at work and the silly argument with Chris. Lying in bed you heard the sounds of dishes as he kept rearranging the dishwasher. 

“Asshole,” you muttered and willed yourself to sleep so you wouldn’t have to see his dumb face when he came to bed.

When you woke the next morning he was beside you, but with his back turned to you. The sight of him like this pissed you off quite a bit; he usually held you in his arms as he slept, snuggling close to you. So instead of giving him his usual morning kiss and cuddles you just rolled your eyes. You got out of bed and got ready for work, going through the motions of your daily routine without even thinking.

Fully showered and dressed, you left Chris still asleep in you room and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. As you opened the fridge, you got a text from your boss. Something urgent came up and you needed to leave for work immediately in order to handle it. 

You groaned and grabbed your bag. You patted Dodger’s beautiful head as you headed out the door, focused on writing a text in reply to your boss and telling him you were on your way.

Chris woke up only about half an hour after you left. He scrunched up his face as he slowly came back to reality, unused to not having you curled up around him. 

He turned to look for you and found only an empty bed. The memory of last night’s argument came back and he grunted, annoyed. Were you really going to make such a big deal of this?

He got out of bed, used the toilet, and went out to the kitchen, where he expected to find you and apologize for the dishwasher incident.

But the kitchen was empty, and except for a very happy Dodger playing with his favorite toy, so was the rest of the apartment. “Unbelievable,” Chris sighed, more hurt than annoyed. He decided not to let it bother him; you’d both deal with it when you got back from work. For now, he had a hungry dog to feed and more scripts to go over.

When you got back from work, Chris was not home. Given that you couldn’t find Dodger either, you assumed he had taken him out for a walk. You had not seen or heard from Chris all day since you’d left, not even a text good morning. It only added insult to injury, and you had never guessed that something like dishwasher etiquette could get a usually laid-back guy like Chris so worked up.

As you changed out of your work clothes in the bedroom, you heard the front door open and Chris come in with Dodger. When you were done changing you headed out the door, head held high and fully expecting a heartfelt apology from your seemingly careless boyfriend.

When he heard the bedroom door open, Chris looked up and towards the hallway, expecting the exact same apology from you. After all, you’d just left this morning, no kiss, no note, nothing. If anyone should be apologizing here, it’s you for blowing this whole thing out of proportion, right?

When you made it to the open living room you spotted Chris and he spotted you. You both stared at each other for a few seconds, waiting. 

No one said anything. 

Well, not exactly. Dodger barked upon seeing you and went over to greet you. As you pet your wonderful dog, you remained waiting for him to say something. He watched you pet Dodger with a passive look on his face.

Fine, you both thought simultaneously. I guess that’s how it’s going to be.

 

You’ve had more serious fights. About important stuff, stuff that matters. Really. And some of those fights hadn’t even lasted a day. A few hours of hurt pride and stubbornness, and you’d both come running back to each other, stumbling over apologies and ‘I love you’s. Sure, some of the serious fights had lasted a few days, maybe a few weeks on one rare occasion. But you were totally capable of making up in a relatively short amount of time. Besides, you two rarely argued. 90% of the time it was pure bliss in your household, love abound. 

So you both really had no excuse for the letting the argument about the dishwasher stretch out for so long. 

Almost a whole week had passed since the incident. You were starting to forget why it even started, but you knew you were mad at him and he was mad at you. And you were both too proud to suck it up and just apologize.

For over a week, not a word had been said between the two of you. Almost worse, you hadn’t touched each other at all. The last time Chris touched you was when he pinched your ass so long ago as you were on your way to load that damned dishwasher. Your last words to each other was a mutually expressed ‘Fuck you.’

It was ridiculous, to be honest.

If you were walking towards each other in the hallway, you’d both look directly ahead, refusing to acknowledge the other’s presence. As you got closer, you’d both angle your bodies away to avoid even accidentally brushing past each other. At night, you’d lay as far apart as possible, almost hanging off opposite sides of the bed. A couple of times, Chris’s foot had accidently touched yours, and both times you’d huffed and moved your feet away immediately. 

It was absolutely childish, and it only escalated as the days went by.

One day Chris’ agent had called the home phone, unable to reach him on his cell. You’d picked up not knowing who it was. You greeted his agent affably, catching up and trading pleasantries for a while. When she’d asked to speak to Chris you said, “Just a minute,” like a perfect little secretary and put the phone back down on the table, without ending the call.

Four hours later, Chris had seen the phone lying there, never having received the message. “Hello?” he asked in to the receiver a few times, but the line had gone dead. He put the phone down and looked angrily towards the shut bedroom door, behind which you resided silently watching a show. 

It didn’t stop there.

When Chris was back home, he usually did the laundry since he was typically at home longer. But this week, he had washed only his clothes, leaving your dirty laundry to pile up in the hamper. 

When you cooked, you only made enough for yourself. This week you had purposefully made the most flavorful dishes you knew how, letting the delicious aroma fill the kitchen. When the food was done, you’d pile it all on one plate and eat it silently. Sometimes you felt Chris watching you eat with a clenched jaw. When you were done you just rinsed your plate and left it in the sink. He can load the dishwasher his own damn self his own damn way.

I mean, come on. It was just sad.

A week later, nothing had changed. No speaking, no touching. Your days consisted of rolling your eyes behind each other’s backs and passive aggressively doing chores in such a way as to inconvenience the other. It was straight up domestic warfare.

But this war of attrition was quickly reaching its conclusion.

By the end of the first week of no intimate contact with your man, you had begun to feel the side effects. To put it simply, you were horny. 

When he wasn’t looking you’d ogle his muscles rippling under his shirt. In the mornings he would stand next the bed and stretch. He’d groan loudly as he did so, thinking you were still asleep. The downright pornographic sound would make you bite your lip and press your legs together under the covers. When he was in the bathroom and you heard the shower was on you just had to close your eyes to imagine the warm water cascading down that fucking body.

You missed his touch, desperately. You were beginning to forget what it felt like to have his soft, warm hand hold yours. You fantasized about caressing his face, scratching his beard. God, the fucking beard! To feel it scratching up your thighs again... Oh and his mouth! You fantasized about kissing those soft, full lips. Feeling his sweet tongue all over your skin. Biting, sucking, worshipping. His firm chest pressed up against your body, strong arms wrapped around you and holding you in place as he thrusted...

And his dick. Jesus. Suffice it to say you couldn’t even look at phallic-shaped objects anymore with almost shedding a tear. You needed that dick bad. 

But you also knew that if this lack of contact was driving you crazy, then it was absolutely killing him. Chris was the more affectionate one between the two of you, which was saying something since you were also pretty cuddly, especially when it came to a certain Chris Evans.

You could sometimes feel his eyes on you as you walked across the room. When you strode past each other in the hallway, he’d look your body up and down as you passed, instead of staring straight ahead like before. You were ashamed to admit that on more than one occasion you’d put your ear to the door of the bathroom when he was inside, and the tell-tale grunting you heard proved that he needed some loving too. (Yes, you’d touch yourself as you heard him masturbate; you’re only human.)

Knowing the position you were both in, you decided to up the ante. 

You took to wearing next to nothing around the house. Bras were a thing of the past. Short shorts were all the rage. Instead of wearing your usual comfy hoodies in the evening after work, you traipsed around in tank tops. Yes, sometimes it got a bit cold but that would only make your nipples harden, drawing Chris’ attention even more. Sometimes you even saw him do a double-take as you walked past, swinging your hips and batting your eyes like a minx.

By the end of the second week after the dishwasher incident you had forgone underwear. You knew that if you bent down in certain positions, such as to pick up a remote or pat a cute dog’s head, that you were showing more than a respectable woman should. 

You’d lie on the couch, arms behind your head and proud chest on display. Shorts riding low on your hips, legs stretched. When you heard Chris come in the room, you’d close your eyes and pretend to be resting quietly. You would hear his footsteps stop and you knew he was staring at you, for up to a full 3 minutes on one occasion. 

Once near the end of the fight, you were reaching up to get something from the top shelf and Chris entered in the room. He caught a side view of your body. Tank top riding up, exposing your lower abdomen. Nipples poking through the thin material of your top. Your shorts had ridden up, exposing much of your ass cheeks. When you turned your head to look at Chris out of the corner of your eye he seemed like he was about to have an aneurysm. 

Finally, you had reached your wits end. Two weeks. Two weeks without Chris. You weren’t sure how you’d even survived this long. You hadn’t even made a conscious decision to end the ordeal, but one day the tension just snapped.

Chris was sitting on the couch, watching TV. His body was tense as it had been since the incident and his jaw was clenched as he glared at the screen. 

You walked straight into his line of vision in your skimpy top and shorts. You bent over directly in front of him, shifting through the junk laying on the coffee table. 

You sighed dramatically.

“Have you seen my phone?” you asked innocently, feigning displeasure. 

And you thought you could almost feel all the air leave the room. You didn’t turn to face him. You knew where your phone was. In fact, you had left it on the coffee table an hour ago before Chris had started watching TV.

Without waiting for his reply, you found your phone under a few pages and said, “Oh there it is.”

Without another word, you stood and walked to the bedroom. It took all of the little strength you had left not to look back and make sure he was following you.

You left the bedroom door open and made your way to the dresser. You put your phone down and then rested your hands on its surface. You waited.

Sure enough, not five seconds later you heard Chris’ muted footfalls as he approached the doorway. He paused for a bit, staring at your back. His heart was racing. He was nervous, he realized, and it was almost funny. It’s now or never, man. You need her, he thought to himself.

Gathering up his courage, Chris cleared his throat loud enough for you to hear and took a few steps into the room. 

“You seen my wallet?” he asked, as he got closer to you. For some reason, he even pretended to look around the room. 

His wallet was on the dresser - like it always was - directly in front of you. 

You took a breath, feeling close to bursting and opened your mouth to respond when you felt the heat of his body right behind you.

“It’s right-“ was all you managed to say before he pressed his front right up against your back. In on smooth motion, his hands moved over along either side of your hips, grazed up your stomach and came to rest on you breasts, squeezing lightly.

At the same time, he pressed his open mouth to you neck, leaving wet kisses in his wake.

You let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a whimper, and absolutely melted backwards into his touch. 

His large hands roamed over your body as he sucked at your neck, now making his way up to that spot behind your ear. That spot right there.

You let out a groan, bringing your hands over his where they had found their way back your chest and rolled your hips back against his erection.

He let out a groan of his own in response and you absolutely couldn’t take it anymore.

With a grunt of frustration, your turned in his embrace and crashed your mouth on to his. It was an almost aggressive gesture but you nearly cried at how fucking good it was to feel his mouth on yours again.

Tongues desperately exploring each other’s mouths, the two of you walked blindly backwards to the bed.

You overestimated how far away it was and were surprised when the back of Chris’ knees hit the edge of the mattress, forcing him down. He tightened his arm around you and brought you with him.

You groaned once more and pushed yourself up on his chest, sliding your hips over his and grinding your pussy against the front of his jeans.

You both let out strangled moans at the exquisite feeling. It had been too long. Too damn long.

His hands travelled under your top, pushing it off your body with little effort. He pinched at your nipples as you worked yourself on him. You were almost crying, desperate. Your hands replaced his at your breasts when he brought his own down to your barely covered ass and squeezed your cheeks hard, pressing you down against him with as much as force as he could.

This time a tear did leave your eye. You’d never needed anything more in your life.

Unable to take any more torture, you moved back a bit, reaching down to unbuckle his jeans and noticing the wet patch on them from your juices. Chris was breathing heavily as he continued to knead your ass, bucking his hips ever so slightly.

With shaking hands, you managed to unzip his pants just enough to bring out his dick. It was hard and thick, pulsing in your grasp. Your mouth watered at the sight and you could only imagine how good it would feel to have it inside you again.

With his firm grip on your ass Chris pushed you up his body once more, bring you back on his cock. Your meager shorts had moved to the side and your bare pussy rubbed against him, coating him in your slick. 

You cried out at the feeling and looked up at Chris. That idiot you loved so much, that you needed so badly. His eyes were clenched shut and he was biting his lip with almost enough force to break the skin. 

You took pity on him - pity on you both actually, for being so stupid. 

Lifting yourself up slightly over him, you moved your shorts out of the way and grabbed his cock, rubbing the tip over your slit and lining him up perfectly.

You waited there for just a second, watching as Chris gasped and opened his eyes to look at you. His pupils were completely black; he was gone. In the same instant, you leaned forward to kiss puffed red lips and lowered your hips to take him into you.

The kiss turned into the two of your swallowing each other’s moans as your walls stretched to take him in. It had been so long, and he was so thick, that is was just this side of painful. But it was perfect. Absolute nirvana. 

You took him all in at once, until your ass rested on his thighs. When you were fully seated you sat up, gasping and staring up at the ceiling with wide eyes. Finally, you gulped and look down at him. He was watching you like you were angel sent down from heaven. In spite of all that had happened and the position you were in now, you blushed under his gaze. This man, you thought and lifted your hips, hissing as he slid against your inner walls. 

His hands gripped your hips tightly, hard enough to leave bruises, but he kept them there waiting for your next move.

Digging your nails into his clothed chest, you slammed yourself down on him again.

You both cried out loudly at the feeling. And then all hell broke loose.

Chris’ grip on you got impossibly tighter and he proceeded to lift your body up on his dick before slamming you back down, at the same moment raising his hips to meet you. 

His pace was relentless. You could only moan, slack-jawed and eyes glazed over as he fucked you into oblivion. Usually, you were a reasonably quiet couple when it came to love-making but now you were like two wild animals rutting into each other. Tears rushed down your cheeks as you whimpered and cried out his name to the air above you. 

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” Chris cursed as he stabbed into you and each time it felt rougher, deeper, more satisfying. 

Within seconds you were at the edge, back arched and head thrown back. Chris’ pace stuttered as time went by.

“Fuck! Y/N! I’m gonna come! Fuck! Fuck!!” 

“CHRIS!”

You both yelled at the same time, reaching your peaks together. You almost passed out from the intense pleasure. Your walls clenched even tighter around his cock, reacting without your control and milking his cum from his cock. He emptied himself into you, forcing himself in as you tightened around him. With just three final thrusts, he finished, keeping you pressed down onto him. 

Your tears were flowing freely now and you were whimpering out his name “Chris...Chris...” as you struggled to regain your breath, feeling more satisfied than you had in ages.

“Fuck, Y/N. I love you, baby. I love you so much,” he gasped out, chest heaving under you as he loosened his grip around your waist. 

You brought your forehead down to rest again his. “Chris. I love you too. So much, baby,” you whispered, your breaths mingling. The two of you exchanged a wet kiss, both completely drained of energy. The last two weeks had been an ordeal, to say the least, but now it was finally over.

When your lips separated, Chris let out a rough chuckle. “Please, babe. Let’s never argue over that fucking dishwasher ever again.”

You giggled, delirious and still filled by him. 

“You got it, Mr. Clean.”


End file.
